


The Derry Academy

by shkanonyasutrice



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe- The Umbrella Academy, Crossover, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-03-07 01:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18863029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shkanonyasutrice/pseuds/shkanonyasutrice
Summary: In the 1980s, an eccentric figure known as Pennywise recruited a small number of gifted children to form the superhero group known as the Derry Academy. Twenty-seven years later, Pennywise is dead, and the Academy comes back to Derry, only to find that more trouble and secrets await them when they return. [The Umbrella Academy AU]





	1. Breaking News

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!! Thank you so much for choosing to check out my IT/TUA au- this isn't my first au, if you want to check out what I've previously written, you can find my IT/Life is Strange au, Rewind, on my page!
> 
> This is going to be a mixture of the events of It and TUA, with a few other King works sprinkled in (no worries, you don't need to have read them to understand what's going on!). I'll be covering a lot in this story, so updates may take me a long while, as I'm also working fulltime, but I would highly appreciate any feedback/bookmarking/subscribing!
> 
> There'll be heavy themes covered here, such as gaslighting, trauma, suicide, child death, and more. So, please, proceed with caution!
> 
> With that, I hope you enjoy reading! <3

 

**_[Excerpt from ‘The Seventh Derry Academy Member’, autobiography written by Eddie Kaspbrak, 2012.]_ **

_Before I begin this account, I’m going to assume you know about the Derry Academy. For those of you that don’t know, long story short, they were a group of six powerful children, who used their powers to fight evil, and save civilians. I know, it’s your basic superhero story._

_If you know about the Derry Academy, you probably also know about the man who trained them—Robert Gray, also known as Pennywise. The Academy wasn’t raised by him, per se, but for several hours a week, they would be trained in his house on Neibolt Street. Sometimes, there were sleepovers, and during the long summers, it would be hard to recall a time that we weren’t in each other’s presence. So, in a way, the Academy became a family of its own. Even if you ask each of the Academy members now, they would confirm that they never had a closer friend since._

_To say that those times at Neibolt Street were filled with fun memories would be a lie. The training sessions were intense, with Pennywise pushing my friends to their limits. But, somehow, despite the blood, sweat and tears I had seen, I had wanted to be a part of it all. Sure, I was terrified of every possible minor illness and ailment back then, but I would’ve tossed all that aside for the chance to fight alongside my friends._

_Those of you that were obsessed enough with the Derry Academy knew that I was always there, by Pennywise’s side, while my friends fought against all kinds of evil. I was there to help them once the fighting was over. I bandaged them, stitched them up, and just tried to cheer them up in general. It should have felt good to provide as much to my friends, right?_

_It did feel good to help them, but I always felt useless as long as I couldn’t fight along with them._

_I was the only one without any powers, and being told for years that I was nothing in comparison to my friends hurt an awful lot._ They _tried to reassure me that it didn’t matter, but I was always reassured by others, and the general media, that I was, and always will be, the unimportant Academy member._

_For those of you that don’t remember all the details about the members of the Derry Academy, let me refresh your memories. I’ve borrowed some notes on us from Pennywise’s own notebooks, which are referenced below._

* * *

 

 **_Number One: Bill Denbrough._ ** _Ability to communicate with the dead. According to his reports, mainly comes in contact with subjects who died untimely deaths._

 _Personal Assessment: A leader. Rest of the Academy looks up to him. But— note that he is still a child. If he fails to provide them with guidance, he relies on me to provide him with guidance to help them. Selfless, and therefore vulnerable. One last note: His stutter is _ _incredibly_ _irritating._

* * *

 

“I-I-It’s duh-duh-done.”

Bill sat back, placing the paintbrush down on the desk. His cuticles were stained a dark blue, and he knew it would take several days to fully wash the paint from his nails, but for now, he didn’t care. In that moment, he just gazed at his newest creation.

He felt a presence appear over his shoulder. Craning his head, he locked eyes with one of his oldest friends; Stan Uris. He felta pang of nervousness accompany his satisfaction— Stan tended to be a brutally honest critic of his work. Bill tensed up as he watched Stan examine his painting carefully.

“What d-d-do you thuh-think?”

Stan squinted and hummed in contemplation. Bill continued to watch him, almost tempted to hold his breath. After a moment had passed, Stan finally spoke.

“It’s good,” he said, sounding genuinely impressed. “You’ve come a long way with your shading technique.”

Bill felt relief wash over him, and he smiled. Stan’s approval was sometimes hard to come by, but his constructive criticism had paid off, as Bill’s painting skills had improved immensely over the past few years.

He turned back towards the painting. It was a simplistic portrait of a girl, approximately in her twenties, with large, brown eyes, and tangly hair. The girl’s eyes conveyed a sense of curiosity and watchfulness, staring out at the two men now. The background was a bluish-green, similar to the colour of his own wallpaper.

“Y-Y-You sure there i-isn’t anything wrong wuh-wuh-with it?” he asked.

Stan paused, examining the painting once more.

“Her eyes are a little—“

“Big.”

Bill flinched, turning at the sound of the new voice. He came face to face with the girl who had large, brown eyes. She was standing next to Stan, gazing at her own portrait. Seeing the way she had scared Bill by her sudden appearance, she smiled apologetically.

“Sorry. That’s only a minor quip, you know. Really, it’s a great portrait,” she said. “I think this is the first time anyone’s ever drawn me.”

He had met the girl about two weeks ago, where she had stumbled upon him while he was shopping for groceries. She was shocked to realize he could see her, and then she had seized upon the opportunity, as so many spirits did.

She had begged him to find her family, to convey a final message to them. She begged him to tell them that she was sorry she had been stupid enough to not look all ways before crossing at a busy intersection, that she should have jumped back as soon as she saw the car barreling towards her. Then, she simply added to tell her family that she loved them.

Bill had promised her that he would, in time. When he was younger, he would work as quickly as possible to tell the families of the deceased who came in contact with him. But, after witnessing so much heartbreak and tears from their families, he had to give himself time to work up the courage to tell them, or else he knew he would lose his mind.

Thankfully, the girl had been understanding. As a way of an apology for taking so long, he had occupied the time it took to build up the courage, choosing to work on a portrait of her.

As she took a step forward, Bill leaned away from the painting, allowing her to get a better look. She reached out, and in an attempt to brush her fingers over it, her hand easily glided through the painting, onto the other side. Looking down sadly at her hands, Bill recognized that look. He had seen it many times over the course of his life, due to his abilities.

The look was of someone who just realized, once again, and with more clarity, that they were really dead. Bill wondered if it was something you could ever truly come to terms with. As he had seen that miserable look grace so many faces, he doubted if death was something that could ever be truly accepted.

While he wasn’t dead yet, he could understand that feeling, as there was something in his own life he refused to accept for the past twenty-seven years.

As he thought about this particular thing now, he watched the girl carefully. He decided to give her a moment to contemplate before speaking again.

“I-I-I n-n-need to know suh-something,” Bill said, feeling a pit of nervousness settle in his stomach.

The girl looked up at him curiously. He gulped, and then looked her directly in the eyes.

“D-D-Did you suh-suh-see a b-b-boy named Georgie? B-B-Blond huh-hair, a-about suh-six years o-o-old?” he asked.

Once again, that feeling of desperation began to emerge. He had asked that question to every single person he encountered since his brother had died, and he had yet to receive an affirmative response.

Stan sighed and stared out the window. He had witnessed these exchanges more times than he could count, and he always knew how it was going to end. He couldn’t stand to see the surge of hope, and then the bitter disappointment, in his friend’s exchanges with the dead once more.

The girl thought about it for a few seconds, and then shook her head, smiling sadly.

“Can’t say I have. I’m sorry,” she said.

Bill sighed and nodded, unable to look at her. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, but he always did. While a part of him wanted to give up asking this question to every ghost he encountered, another part of him asked, _But what if this one_ has _seen him?_

But, once again, he had been let down.

“Bill? I’m really sorry,” the girl repeated. “If I see a kid like you described, I’ll let him know you’re—“

“It’s f-f-fine,” he stopped her. “I’ll t-t-t-tell your f-f-family what huh-happened.”

She smiled weakly at him. Then, she looked back at the painting of herself, and turned to Bill, thinking of what to say next. Before she could say anything, though, both of them were distracted by Stan suddenly leaping away from the window. He turned towards Bill with an exasperated look.

“She’s here again,” he told him.

Bill groaned, his disappointment replaced by dread. He knew exactly who Stan was talking about; his elderly neighbor, Dolores Miller. She tended to frequently come around to Bill’s, mainly to yell at him about turning down the music he played while he worked, or to ask him why he spent so much time mumbling to himself, and if he could keep it down.

“Bill! I know you’re up there!” she called out.

At the sound of her voice, Bill retreated back towards the painting. When he craned his head, he noticed that the girl was gone. That was alright by him— spirits came and went as they pleased, and she had no obligation to witness Dolores’ complaining.

 _“Bill Denbrough!_ Don’t you dare ignore me!”

He began to think. _Maybe if I just stay quiet for long enough, she’ll—_

“It’s important, I promise. You haven’t been watching the news, have you?” she called up, her tone becoming uncharacteristically softer. Then, she seemed to catch herself, and added sourly, “I bet you haven’t. Locked yourself away like a hermit and painted more pictures instead, right?”

“What’s guh-going on in the n-n-n-news, Mrs. M-M-Miller?” he asked, already getting fed up.

“Well, you were a member of that little superhero group of kids, weren’t you? The Derry Academy, right?”

At that, Bill held his breath. In all the years he lived in this little neighborhood, Dolores had never given any indication that she had known about his upbringing. He couldn’t respond, but only stared at her with wide eyes, wondering how she could have known. His life in the Derry Academy wasn’t something he boasted about, not after—

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. How out of touch do you think I am?” she snapped. “ _Everyone_ knew about the Derry Academy all those years ago.”

“What a-a-about it?” he replied stiffly.

“Well, when were you last in touch with Robert Gray?”

“...A long tuh-time a-a-ago,” Bill said, tensing up at the mention of that name. _What could he have possibly done to get in the news?_

“Then I take it you haven’t heard...” she murmured, trailing off, and then looked at him with sympathy, which surprised him. “I ought to let you know. Let me in, would you?”

Bill turned towards Stan, unsure. Stan shrugged, indicating he had no idea what Dolores was talking about. He had a curious look in his eyes too, wondering what their old mentor had done. While Bill would have preferred to leave that life behind, he also knew that he owed a great deal of his powers to his mentor’s work.

With that, he turned back towards the window.

“Front duh-door’s uh-uh-unlocked. Luh-Let yourself i-i-in.”

Dolores tutted at the man’s lack of neighborly etiquette, but put that aside for now. She could judge him for that later, but for now, she needed to be gentle of how she broke the news concerning Robert Gray.

* * *

 **_Number Two: Ben Hanscom._ ** _Ability to create vivid landscapes in his imagination, catering to all the senses, and project them into the real world. Ideal for throwing enemies off guard by thrusting them into unfamiliar territory._

_Personal Assessment:_ _A weakling. Hesitant to use his powers to his full potential, and tends to be upset after using said powers. Has the ability to become a powerful person, but will never utilise that potential. Can already see the worthless, normal adult he’ll become._

* * *

Ben paced slowly around the room, keeping his eyes on the floor. He held his hands out in front of him, concentrating on maintaining the illusion in front of his eyes. _Focus, Ben. You have another month to submit a proposal for the new Communications Centre. You can do it,_ he told himself.

Below him, he saw a miniature version of the business district of London, where he had been assigned his latest project. Craning his neck, he saw more of the miniature version of the city behind him, easily spotting landmarks and the older structures of historic buildings. As much as he wanted to focus on the details that his powers were able to conjure, he knew he had a job to do.

Instead, he turned back toward the empty plot of land. He focused on the area, conjuring an image in his mind. He vaguely thought of tinted windows, allowing privacy for the workers in the centre, but also giving it an aesthetically pleasing touch for people passing by.

Ben sighed, frowning. Amongst all the other buildings, it simply blended in, no particular unique structure to it. After a moment of focusing, he watched as, with a smooth, gliding motion, the structure changed from rectangular to cylindrical. The roof of the building began to expand into a dome-like shape, with clear glass covering it. It looked a little more unique, much to his satisfaction.

As he gazed at the building, and how it looked surrounded by the rest of the skyscrapers, he felt a twinge of doubt. Then, he could hear a distant voice in his head. The voice sounded quite similar to Stan’s, who Ben hadn’t seen in years.

 _Are you sure it isn’t just a little over the top? The rest of the buildings around here are pretty traditional-looking,_ the voice critiqued. _I don’t even understand what you’re trying to do here._

Then, another voice, this time sounding more like Richie Tozier’s.

_Hey, I think I know what you’re getting at. It kind of looks like a di—_

Ben sighed, shaking his head. Whenever he spent too much time alone in his apartment, he found that his thoughts began to sound more and more like the voices of the friends he rarely contacted. He wasn’t completely out of touch with them, but he knew that sending a birthday text wasn’t enough to get rid of the longing he felt to see them properly again.

Then, still looking down at the city, he felt a painful twinge in his head. Holding a hand up to his temple, he quickly waved a hand in front of the city, causing it to disappear in a swift fade. Once again, he was back in his room, simply gazing at the blue carpet. Despite the fact that he was no longer creating an illusion, the headache still persisted.

_Hey, remember to take care of yourself._

At that thought, he smiled a little to himself. That wasn’t just a random thought, but instead, the last thing he had been told during a phone call with one of the old friends he thought about so much, Beverly Marsh. It had been one of those rare casual phone calls, from last month. Before he hung up, he told her that nowadays, whenever he tried to maintain illusions for a prolonged period of time, he would get vicious headaches. She had paused for a moment, and then had given him the simple advise to take care of himself, something he tried to adhere to.

He decided the best way to take care of himself would be to just unwind and watch some random programme. With that, he strode into the living room, slumped down on the couch, and turned on the TV. Some random news channel was on, and the presenters were interviewing a local politician.

He lowered the volume and pulled out his phone. Pulling up his texts, he scrolled down for a moment, and eventually found a group chat far down the list. Clicking on it, he glanced over the only three messages, sent over three years ago.

_Bill: Hey, everyone. I thought it might be a good idea to set up a group chat, in case there’s ever an emergency, and we all need to contact each other ASAP._

_Beverly: Ok_

_Richie: Woah, this chat is already gone wild, tone it down!_

The messages had been sent in one quick swoop. When the group chat had been initially set up, Ben had hoped that it would be an opportunity for them all to begin talking regularly again. However, Bill and Beverly had said nothing to Richie’s last comment, and Eddie had never bothered saying anything in the chat. Ben had spent days thinking of what to say to get a conversation going, but nothing came to him, three years had passed, and the chat remained as dead as ever.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. What could he possibly say? Maybe he could just ask how everyone was, or perhaps ask them for advice on his new project. He thought maybe he should be honest, and send a simple _I miss you guys,_ even if that came at the risk of Richie calling him corny and lame.

Mulling the few options over in his head, he flinched when his phone buzzed before he could type anything. His heart leapt for a moment, but then he sighed when he just saw it was just the contractor who had hired him for the Communications Centre job.

_Kyle: Any updates? Haven’t received much news from you this week._

Ben frowned. He wondered how to explain that he used his illusory powers to create his blueprints, which he had to take a break from, due to a bad headache. He was sure that kind of excuse would be the type to get him immediately kicked off the project.

_Ben: Sorry, just trying to come up with a couple of different ideas. I’ll have stuff for you by the end of the week._

When he felt another shooting pain in his head, he decided to put down his phone, and close his eyes for a moment. As he tried to focus on waiting for the pain to subside, he listened to the TV’s low volume.

“We have a breaking story,” the news anchor reported. “Robert Gray, better known as Pennywise, founder of the Derry Academy…”

Ben sat upright, immediately turning up the volume. As he listened to the report, his eyes widened. He was gripping onto his phone so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. _How did none of us know? What_ happened?

Frozen stiff on the couch, all he could do was look down at his phone again, the message to Kyle still open. After a moment of consideration, he typed out another message.

_Ben: Actually, I don’t think I’ll have those blueprints ready by the end of the week. Contact my office, one of my colleagues will step in. Sorry, emergency at home._

Forcing himself up from the couch, he trudged towards his room, thinking of what he needed to bring. Before he started packing, though, he pulled out his phone again. He finally decided it was time to break the three year silence in the group chat.

_Ben: Guys, if you haven’t already heard, turn on the news. I think we need to go back to Derry. I’ll see you all soon, hopefully._

As he began to pick out what clothes to bring, he found that his headache was beginning to fade. He couldn’t even feel relieved about this, though, as the news he was trying to process was enough to send him reeling.

Then, he felt an immense surge of guilt for what he realised. He realised that he would finally be able to see everyone that he missed so dearly— the closest friends he ever had. And, that feeling was enough to triumph anything else he felt about the news.

* * *

 ** _Number Three:_ _Beverly Marsh._** _Ability to throw weapons with absolute accuracy guaranteed. Weapon preference appears to be knives. Accuracy is ideal for maiming or killing foes._

_Personal Assessment:_ _A selfish, insolent brat._ _She_ _decides when she wants to utilise her abilities, instead of listening to me. Her inability to cooperate will inevitably drive her away from the other members. With abilities like hers, it is easy to picture her venturing down a dark path in later life._

* * *

“Hold still.”

Beverly had the knife pressed flat against the woman’s back. She didn’t make a sound, holding her breath. _Okay, make this quick,_ Beverly thought to herself, _you don’t have a lot of time._

Squinting slightly, she focused all her energy into bringing the knife up in a swift motion. The woman craned her head, giving her an alarmed look.

“Is it…?” she asked.

Standing upright, Beverly nodded, revealing what she was holding in between her thumb and forefinger; a loose thread. The other woman let out a sigh of relief, and patted down the back of her dress, making sure there weren’t any more dangling threads.

“Thanks. I’m really sorry, by the way I didn’t mean to ruin your dress,” she apologised. “ _Especially_ not five minutes before I was meant to go out there.”

“It’s just one little thread,” Beverly said, shrugging. “It’s all good, really.”

They looked at each other and smiled. Beverly could see the nervousness in the woman’s eyes. She didn’t know her very well, all she knew was that her name was Kyra, and this was her first big modelling gig. She could understand the nervousness— she had seen that look on so many girls’ faces over the years, right before a show, but it always paid off when they came back with looks of euphoria.

While designing clothes was the main appeal of her job, Beverly also loved the fashion shows. The atmosphere was always electric on the night, and it gave her a chance to meet the women who would showcase her designs, from the veterans to the new girls.

Hoping to calm Kyra’s nerves, she began to open her mouth, but before she could say anything, she saw that the girl was looking over at the scattered sheets across the table. She picked up one of the sheets. On all of them, there were various rough designs of new outfits, with bolder cuts than the current collection she had worked on.

“You’ve already started on new designs?” Kyra asked, amazed.

“Well, you know, when inspiration hits, you have to follow it,” Beverly explained.

Kyra nodded, understanding what she meant. She put the sheets back down on the table, and Beverly looked over them for a minute, biting her lip.

There was another reason she threw herself into her next project as quickly as she could. Whenever she spent too much time doing nothing, her mind began to wander to places

_(my eye oh god oh fuck YOU BITCH WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY—)_

she would rather forget. She shuddered suddenly, but then shook her head, facing Kyra. Glancing up quickly at the clock, she was it was nearly the girl’s turn to go out on the runway.

“You ready?” Beverly asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

With that, Beverly accompanied her out of the room, and towards the waiting area. As she stood in the darkened area, she felt a twinge of suspicion. Usually, from where she stood, she would be able to hear the rapid clicking of cameras, and to see their rapid flashing. But, she could only hear the occasional click, which got her worried.

A moment later, she heard the sound of clacking heels approaching the waiting area. Soon, Beverly was face to face with Lucy, one of the models she had been working with for years. The first thing Beverly registered was that she looked absolutely furious.

“Um, should I go out there…?” Kyra asked.

“It’s your funeral,” Lucy grumbled.

Beverly nodded at Kyra, who uncertainly made her way out onto the runway. Then, she pulled Lucy to one side.

“What happened out there?”

“It all started off fine, but then some photographer’s phone chimed, and next thing you know, he was whispering to a bunch of the other photographers, word got around, and they all pulled out their phones. _No one_ was looking at me, all they cared about was whatever the fuck was on their phones. I mean, Jesus, there’s a time and a place, right?” Lucy snapped.

While she knew she should focus on reassuring the girl that all would be alright at the next show, Beverly found herself wondering what had happened. For photographers to abandon their jobs, she figured it must have been a big current event. Before she could ponder on it anymore, though, she heard a clear voice ring out from the group of photographers outside.

“Is Beverly Marsh in attendance tonight?”

Beverly looked over at Lucy, and frowned. “I better see what’s going on. Let’s talk later.”

As she strode out onto the runway, she could feel her phone vibrate in her pocket. Her hand instinctively went to her side, but she chose to ignore it. Kyra gave her a questioning look, but Beverly barely knew what was going on either. As she faced the photographers, there was a moment of silence, but then, they all began to ask her a flurry of questions.

“Hey, hey! One at a time!” she snapped. “I can’t hear any of you!”

A woman in the front row stood up, and Beverly pointed at her, indicating that she wanted her to speak. The rest of the photographers and journalists began to quieten down.

“When was the last time you were in contact with Robert Gray? Have you contacted him since your days in the Derry Academy?” she asked.

Beverly felt herself freeze up, her whole body becoming tense. “I don’t talk about that part of my life anymore.”

With that, the rest of the audience could no longer keep silent. Over the flurry of their questions, she was able to pick up a few key words, and she finally understood why no one was paying attention to the fashion show. Kyra’s eyes widened as she realised too, and she reached towards Beverly.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, this shouldn’t have been how you found out,” she soothed.

 _Sorry? What’s there to be sorry for?_ Beverly thought, but she said nothing, only giving Kyra a grateful smile.

She only knew one thing— she needed to get back to Derry as soon as she could. She hurried backstage, ignoring the audience’s pressing questions. As she walked, she pulled her phone out of her pocket, and was surprised to see that the old group chat formed a few years ago was finally active again.

_Ben: Guys, if you haven’t already heard, turn on the news. I think we need to go back to Derry. I’ll see you all soon, hopefully._

_Bill: I was just about to contact you guys— my neighbour told me. You all need to try and get to Derry ASAP._

Glancing at the two messages, Beverly quickly typed out a reply.

_Beverly: On my way._

She strode out of the backstage door, and saw a group of taxi cabs parked up on the sidewalk. She ran to the nearest one, knocking on the window. The driver rolled down the window, looking her up and down.

“Can you get me to Newark?” she asked.

The driver nodded, and she jumped in the back of the cab. Staring out of the window, she watched as the venue trailed further and further out of view. She would be leaving the world of fashion designing, which she had thrown herselfwholeheartedly for the past fifteen years. She would be briefly leaving it all behind to return to the past that she wanted to leave behind.

As she looked out at the night sky, she found herself wishing she had brought along her sketchbook to work on new designs. _I just need anything to distract myself from this mess right now,_ she thought.

* * *

 **_Number Four: Richie Tozier._ ** _Ability to manipulate anyone to follow his command, by using the phrase, “I heard a rumour.” Ideal for dealing with stubborn opponents._

_Personal Assessment:_ _Easily the most irritating person I have ever met. Does not take training seriously, and deflects from serious situations with poor humour. Unless he uses his power to his advantage, he will undoubtedly fail in life._

* * *

Richie wasn’t the most observant person, but it was obviously clear, even to him, that this interview was an absolute disaster.

For one thing, he had already delved into nervous rambling already, and although he hardly had any clue what he was saying, he was almost certain he threw in a joke about having a poor work ethic. That was enough to get a raised eyebrow from the interviewer.

In fact, that had been one of the only times Richie had been able to get the man’s attention. He was staring ahead vacantly otherwise, nodding every now and then, but making it clear that he would rather be any place but here.

“And you know, as you saw on my resume, I’ve gotten plenty of positive feedback for my voice impressions at my old job,” Richie continued speaking as calmly as he could, but found himself growing intimidated by the man’s refusal to look at him.

Feeling his discomfort grow, he shoved his hands in his pockets and sunk back into the chair. He knew slouching wouldn’t make a good impression, but hell, the guy was barely looking at him anyway.

There was a moment of silence, and then, the interviewer looked at him with a hard gaze. It was enough to make Richie sit upright.

“And why did you leave your old job?” he asked.

Richie scowled, knowing he had broken his most important rule when it came to job interviews— avoid bringing up his old job at all costs. Everyone who worked in the radio industry in LA had known exactly what happened. That wasn’t surprising, considering a big enough deal had been made about it.

Even though he tried to put it behind him, the incident followed him around like a shadow. He hadn’t heard back from many of the places he applied to, and if he was lucky enough to score an interview, he never proceeded much further past that dreaded question about his old job.

And now, he had walked right into that trap.

 _Okay, stay cool, just find a way out,_ he told himself. He sat up straight, trying to maintain a professional look.

“What happened at my old job isn’t really relevant, right?” he said, and forced a small laugh.

He paused, anxious to see if the interviewer would persist on asking questions about the incident. Much to his strange relief, the man’s bored look simply returned.

“I was thinking I should tell you about my extra-curriculars from when I was in college,” Richie insisted.

The interviewer began to fumble in his pocket for something, no longer making eye contact. “Mm-hm.”

“Uh,” Richie muttered, wondering what had caught his attention, but proceeded on anyway. “I know I graduated forever ago, but my time helping out with the college’s radio station helped increase listeners across...”

He stopped, looking over at the interviewer in disbelief. The man who was meant to be focused on him was currently looking down at something beneath the desk, and judging by the faint glow, it was clear he was scrolling on his phone.

Richie sat back again, unable to believe the nerve of the man. _Seriously?_ This _is how you treat a possible new employee?_

Feeling anger bubble up inside, he found himself thinking about what he wished he could say; _I heard a rumour you looked up from your damn phone._

_I heard a rumour you would offer me a job._

He brushed away those thoughts— his use of his power was the reason he was unemployed now. He didn’t want to add any more damage onto an already growing list.

Instead, he stared hard at the interviewer, who hadn’t noticed he had stopped speaking. Richie was about to clear his throat to gain his attention, but stopped when he saw that the man was now rapidly glancing down at his phone, and back at Richie, with widening eyes.

“What’s up?” Richie prompted.

“You were in the Derry Academy when you were younger, right?” the interviewer asked, urgency in his voice.

“That’s not really relevant to this job,” he replied. Then, something occurred to him. “Unless you want it to be. I mean, who cares about my work experience? You wanna hear about the time me and my friends knocked out a grave robber? ‘Cause that was—“

“No. Oh my god, stop talking,” the other man groaned. “Since you’ve been here for the past twenty minutes, I’m guessing you haven’t heard about the guy who ran the Academy?”

“Who, Pennywise?”

At the mention of his old mentor, Richie found himself beginning to tense up. When the Derry Academy disbanded, one of the things he was happiest about was that he never had to talk to that bastard ever again.

“If that’s what you want to call him. Anyway, he’s in the news.”

 _What did you do now, asshole?_ Richie thought with a grimace. He had no idea what Pennywise was up to these days— since he had left Derry, he had cut off all contact with his old mentor.

The last time he had heard from him had been shortly after he got fired. He had received a postcard in the mail, reading, “Greetings from Derry!”, depicting the town’s main street as the sun was setting. The postcard read:

_Hey, buddy!_

_Sorry to hear about your job. If you want to work somewhere that appreciates your abilities, the Derry Academy is always waiting for you._

_Your friend,_

_Pennywise._

Richie had promptly torn the postcard into multiple pieces and tossed it in the trash. He barely resisted the urge to write up a response, full of profanity and petty jabs. That had been the last of their correspondence, and really, the last Richie had heard of Pennywise, until now.

In the brief silence, the interviewer lifted his phone from beneath the desk, and held it out so that Richie could see the news article. The first thing he saw were the three photos. One depicted Robert Gray, in a plain suit, and a bare face. The third photo depicted his more well-known alias, Pennywise, dressed up in that ridiculous clown garb. And, in the middle, a photo of Pennywise with the six members of the Derry Academy, in their first public appearance.

As he gazed at the photo of him and his childhood friends, he almost missed the headline. When he looked at it, he raised his eyebrows, unable to believe what he read. A part of him believed it would never happen.

 _Holy shit. No way,_ he thought, and then, a more bitter thought occurred to him— _Finally._

He stumbled up from the chair. He had no idea what he was going to do, but he knew that he probably had to leave the interview, and get in contact with the rest of the Academy, to see what they made of the news.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna get going,” he said.

The interviewer shrugged. “Alright.”

As Richie approached the door, he felt his phone begin to buzz in his pocket. He didn’t know who was texting him, but if he had to make a wild guess, it was probably one of the Academy members. He was already eager to answer— even if he was going to be asked to go back to Derry. It would only make sense, considering that Pennywise had no family.

While a part of him hated the idea, the thought of going back to Derry was becoming more and more appealing. While he wanted absolutely nothing to do with his old mentor, he missed being around his friends.

Then, as he thought of who would return for some kind of memorial service, he frowned upon realizing that one certain person mightn’t be so eager to return. Hell, he doubted if any of them wanted to go back, but he knew that this person would dread it most of all, considering the constant isolation Pennywise inflicted on him throughout the course of his childhood.

But, Richie already knew he wanted to see him more than anybody else. The way that Pennywise treated him didn’t impact how much Richie enjoyed spending time with him. With that in mind, he decided that as soon as he left the building, he’d ask him to come.

As he thought about the upcoming days, undoubtedly hectic, he heard the interviewer clear his throat.

“I have to wonder, Mr. Tozier. Why did you bother putting both you and I through this interview? Why didn’t you just use your powers, if you wanted the job so bad?” he asked.

Richie didn’t turn around. “I don’t use my powers anymore. Besides, I didn’t want to work here that badly anyway.”

“Well, you’ve just wasted both our time,” the man snapped.

“Hey, man, lay off. I’m in mourning, you know?”

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the man cringe and sink further into his seat. Richie opened the door and left the room, grinning to himself. As he pulled out his phone, he knew it was time to get onto more important matters.

* * *

 **_Number Seven: Eddie Kaspbrak._ ** _No abilities._

_Personal Assessment:_ _Utterly useless. No point in wasting energy on him._

* * *

“I recognize you,” the man in the back of the car said.

Eddie kept his eyes on the road, trying to focus all his energy into navigating the insanity of New York’s nightly traffic. However, he knew he couldn’t ignore his customer either— the man, Brent Jenkins, was providing a generous payment for this limo ride. He was anotherrich man with too much money to toss to the wind, but Eddie figured obliging his small talk couldn’t hurt.

Brent had only caught a glimpse of Eddie through the interior car mirror, but it was enough to get him suspicious about who he was. As they were stopped at a traffic light, jammed between multiple cars, all blaring their horns, Eddie figured they had time to talk. He turned around, giving Brent a proper look at his face.

His passenger squinted and leaned forward, and then snapped his fingers as he realised who he was, and slumped back in the seat.

“You’re the guy who wrote that book!” he exclaimed.

“A lot of people have written books…” Eddie mumbled.

“Pff, you know what I mean, you’re that Derry Academy guy. You wrote the big tell-all a few years back.”

“I wouldn’t call it a tell-all, really, it was just an honest account of what we were put through during our childhoods.”

Brent snorted and shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

A moment of silence passed between them, and Eddie hoped that it was a sign that their small talk had reached an end, and that they could reach his destination in silence. Then, Brent leaned forward, and broke the silence once more.

“You know, back when I was a kid, _everyone_ I know wanted to join the Derry Academy. I mean, superhero kids, how cool was that? I even knew these two kids who went all the way to Derry to join, and they got rejected. Boy, they were pissed… you listening, man?”

Eddie nodded, not bothering to give a more elaborate response.

“Kinda weird they didn’t keep fighting crime or whatever. I mean, what’re they doing now, just scratching their asses while the world falls to shit? If _I_ was a superhero when I was a kid, you bet I’d still be out there fighting today,” Brent continued.

Sitting up firmly, Eddie was tempted to retaliate. Clearly, the man hadn’t read his book, only the reviews, or else he would understand why all of his friends had given up their lives as superheroes. He always felt a twinge of rage whenever he heard anyone speaking badly about his friends, but this time, he decided not to act on it, considering he could be losing a rather large payment from this particular customer.

“Hey, no hard feelings about them or anything. I saw a “Where are they now?” post online the other day, and good for them for doing their own thing,” Brent continued to ramble, when his driver gave no reply. “Hey, and Beverly? She turned out pretty hot, huh? Nice legs, even nicer—“

“Mr. Jenkins, you know we have a working television back there. You can watch whatever you like,” Eddie quickly interrupted. He decided that he had heard enough of his passenger’s nuanced opinions on the Derry Academy.

That was enough to satisfy Brent. Eddie heard the sound of the mini television being turned on, and then the fumbling of the remote’s buttons. He could barely hear the blare of the television, but if Brent was occupied, that suited him perfectly.

The silence lasted for approximately twenty seconds.

“Oh, holy shit. We were just talking about the Derry Academy, and guess what?” Brent said.

“What?” Eddie asked.

Brent said nothing, but turned up the television instead.

“…To recap, Robert Gray, founder of the world-renowned Derry Academy, has been found dead in his hometown, Derry. The cause of death appears to be malnutrition. We have yet to receive comment from the members of the Derry Academy…” the news anchor reported.

Eddie felt his breath catch in his throat. _He’s dead. He died and none of us were in Derry to find out firsthand,_ he thought. As his throat began to close, he grabbed his aspirator, pressing down on it. He thought that, if Pennywise ever died, he would be able to clearly define his feelings— whether they were of grief, relief, or a mix of both. But, now that the day was here, he found that he couldn’t clearly define what he was feeling at all. The only thing he could identify was shock, and nothing beyond that.

He had sent a copy of his book to Pennywise, out of a courtesy, considering how much he had talked about him in his book (even if he didn’t say anything particularly pleasant). He hadn’t received a response, but that didn’t bother him. He had said all he needed to say in that book.

“You okay?” Brent asked, causing him to snap out of his thoughts.

“Oh, I’m fine,” he said, cleared his throat, and then adopted a more professional tone. “We’re nearly at your destination.”

They rode in silence. When they arrived at Brent’s destination, the man gave Eddie a hefty tip, saying it was for his troubles. Eddie had gladly taken it, and as he watched the man enter the building, he stayed parked for a moment longer. Then, he pulled out his phone, realising he had received multiple texts.

The one he had been surprised to see was that the group chat was active for the first time in years. The others had already made plans to go back to Derry, presumably for a memorial service of sorts. He frowned, uncertain if he should go back. Pennywise had made it clear that he held no regard for Eddie in comparison to the others, so he doubted if he would’ve cared if he showed up at his funeral.

As he wrestled with the idea of whether or not he should go in his head, he saw he had also received a stream of private texts from Richie. He felt a mixture of surprise and happiness upon seeing the texts— the first real clear emotions he had felt since receiving the news. He scanned over the texts a few times, as they read:

_Richie: Hey, I know Pennywise was the worst, but you’re going, right?_

_—Hello?_

_—Hello???????????????_

_—Eddie?????_

_—Eds??? Why aren’t you replying???_

_—EDS_

_—Come onnnnn this funeral’s not going to be any fun without you_

Eddie raised an eyebrow at the last message, and then began to type out a response.

_Eddie: Funerals aren’t meant to be fun, you know that, right?_

_Richie: THERE YOU ARE_

_—You obviously haven’t been going to the right funerals_

_Eddie: ????????????_

_Richie: Hey you still haven’t answered my question_

Pausing, Eddie thought about it. He didn’t necessarily have to go for Pennywise’s sake. If he wanted to go there just to spend time with his old friends, that would be reason enough. He felt secure in the knowledge that at least Richie would be glad to have him there.

_Eddie: I’m coming._

_Richie: lol that’s what she said_

_Eddie: Don’t make me change my mind_

After a moment, he to add one more thing. When he sent the text, it took a few minutes for Richie to reply, and Eddie watched as the typing speech bubble constantly disappeared and reappeared.

_—I’m looking forward to seeing you._

_Richie: Yeah, same here. See you soon!_

Eddie wondered why it took so long for Richie to reply, but just decided that he must have been distracted by something else. Putting his phone away, he sighed, looking out at the road ahead. He decided he would swing by his apartment, pack a suitcase, and then get on the road to Derry.

As much as he tried, he couldn’t shake away his fears of returning back to the town where he had grown up constantly being told he was nothing, that he was useless. He tried to focus that energy into thinking of the friends he was soon to reunite with.

* * *

**_[Excerpt from ‘The Seventh Derry Academy Member’.]_ **

 

_I know for a fact that none of us have been in touch with Robert Gray for a long time. Sometimes, while I’m going about my daily life here, I can’t help but think of him. Is he cooped up all alone in that house on Neibolt Street? Does he miss us? Does he know the pain and grief he put eight children through? Will anyone mourn for him when he’s gone?_

* * *

Eddie stepped out of the car, holding his suitcase. He looked up at the house on Neibolt Street, his heart pounding. It looked much more run down than it had been when he was young, with grass wildly overgrown, the house’s windows cracked, and the paint long since worn out. However, he could still see the reminiscent qualities of the place where he had spent so much of his childhood.

He took a breath using his inhaler once again, preparing for what was to come. Taking slow, calming breaths, he stepped onto the pavement, briefly stopping at the lamppost in front of the house. There was a flier attached to the post, which looked to have been updated every year:

**_Have you seen this boy?_ **

**_Mike Hanlon_ **

**_Age at time of disappearance: 13_**

**_Age today: 38_ **

**_If you have any knowledge of whereabouts, please ring doorbell, or contact Jessica Hanlon._ **

Above the information, Eddie found himself staring into the smiling face of his friend, Mike. He couldn’t believe it had been twenty-seven years since Mike had simply taken a step, out of the present, and into the unknown. He disappeared without a trace, and although Eddie hoped for the best, he worried frequently about what happened.

* * *

 ** _Number Six: Mike Hanlon._** _Ability to teleport between time and space. Has mastered space-jumping ability, making for spontaneous, unpredictable moves. Time-jumping ability is too undeveloped._

_Personal Assessment:_ _Although aptly gifted with teleporting abilities, clearly shows no interest in using his abilities for my purposes. Too insistent on testing out time-jumping ability, for his own selfish purposes._

_Note:_ _Disappeared approximately three days after I wrote this assessment. Assuming that he tried out his time-jumping abilities, and now cannot return to present. Oh, well, I told him so._

* * *

Eddie proceeded further down the path, trying to push Mike’s disappearance from his mind. He found his gaze wandering, and he noticed, hidden in the unruly grass, there were two statues.

Despite the weight of his suitcase, he found himself wandering over to the statues, which stood side by side. He recognised one of them, as it had been built in his childhood. The statue was a small one, and the plaque was only when the grass was pushed out of the way. As he cleared the grass he could see the statue clearly.

It was a marble sculpture, depicting a young boy, with rising saplings around his feet. The statue was trying to depict a peaceful expression, which was difficult to do, instead giving the boy a glassy look. Eddie sighed as he read the inscription:

**_Georgie Denbrough_ **

**_1983-1989._ **

* * *

**_Number Eight: Georgie Denbrough._ ** _Ability to use nature to his advantage. Ideal for catching opponents off guard, with cracks in the earth, control over water, and so forth._

_Personal Assessment:_ _Despite his young age, he already has proved to have extraordinary power. With the right training, he will go far, perhaps further than the other brats._

_Note:_ _Three months after writing this assessment, Georgie was killed by a gang of thieves. Academy is not coping well with the loss._

* * *

He shook his head. It was at times like these that he wondered why he wanted so badly to be a member of the Academy, especially after seeing how brutally Georgie had been murdered. The loss still felt difficult to deal with, to this day, particularly due to seeing Bill constantly feeling haunted by his brother’s death.

But, he spent enough time as a child staring at the statue, telling himself this was reason enough that he shouldn’t want to be a member of the Academy. Since then, there had been another second, very telling reason.

His gaze drifted towards the other statue. This one, made of the same marble, depicted an older man, a neutral expression on his face, gazing out into the unknown. His curly hair looked very close to that of the man it was trying to represent.

As Eddie knelt down, he noted the marble ring that surrounded the man’s feet, and the darkened material inside of the ring. Kneeling down further, he read the inscription:

**_Stanley Uris_ **

**_1978-2010._ **

* * *

**_Number Five: Stan Uris._ ** _Ability to create portals to access worlds beyond our own. Can seek out creatures to either use as weapons or distractions against enemies._

_Personal Assessment:_ _A weakling. Constantly complains about how much he hates his powers, claims the other worlds ‘scare him’. Needs to grow up._

_A note from the author: I didn’t see Pennywise’s note about Stan’s death, but I can tell you now that he committed suicide at the age of 32. I have no doubts it was escape the memories of the worlds he had to see as a kid._

* * *

He backed away quickly from the statue. Every time he thought of Stan nowadays, he felt a ghost of the shock and grief that hit him when he found out about his death. It had been six years, and it hadn’t become any easier to come to terms with.

Stan’s death had been one of the few things to make him actually think he had been lucky to be ordinary. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Stan’s nightmares consisted of, having stepped through those worlds, where alien-like creatures would have had him for breakfast, if they had gotten the chance.

_Maybe I didn’t want powers, but I just wanted to be considered on the same level as my friends. Maybe everything would have been better for all of us if we had all just been an ordinary group of kids._

He shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. He thought about those kinds of things too often. For now, he had to focus on going inside.

Approaching the front door, he tried the handle, and was unsurprised to see that it was unlocked. He figured that the others had already arrived, as the journey to Derry had been a long one.

Opening the door, he walked inside, noting how dark and dusty the hallway appeared to be. There were a few photos on the walls of professional photos taken of the Academy, none of which he was in. He saw framed newspaper headlines, showing the success of the Derry Academy. He kept his head down and made a beeline for the living room, not wanting to spend too much time staring at those headlines.

As he pushed open the door, he could hear the faint sound of conversation. It came to a halt as the door creaked open. He stood there, simply staring into the room, at the faces of his oldest childhood friends.

Ben and Bill were seated on one sofa, sitting tense and upright, now looking at Eddie with surprise, clearly unsure if he was planning on showing up. Although Eddie couldn’t see him, Stan was seated on the arm of the sofa, not as surprised as the other two that he had shown up. Bill glanced over at him every now and then, making sure he was okay— he still looked forlorn upon seeing the statue erected outside the house.

On the other sofa, Beverly sat at one end, giving him a stiff smile. Richie was sprawled across the other end, his feet resting in Beverly’s lap. He grinned upon seeing Eddie, and Eddie smiled back at him, thinking he was the one person who seemed genuinely happy to see him.

“Eds, you made it!” he cried. “Welcome to the party!”

Bill gave him a scolding look. “Y-Y-You shouldn’t cuh-call i-i-it that.”

However, each of the adults now looked away uncertainly. Although the others mightn’t have put it as crudely as Richie, he had spelt out a truth none of them could deny— none of them were truly sad about the memorial they were going to commemorate that day. The return to Derry only served as a stark, bitter reminder of everything they had been put through during their childhood, and they found it difficult to feel pity for their deceased mentor.


	2. Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill reveals a strange circumstance surrounding Pennywise's death, and makes a suggestion that the others take offence to. Richie and Eddie catch up, as do Bill and Ben. The memorial begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I'm so sorry for the late update! I can't guarantee updates are going to get any faster, but if you're still here for the ride, thank you so much!!! This chapter begins to delve into some of the individual relationships the characters have with one another, so I'm excited for you to see them!
> 
> If you enjoy this chapter, please leave some feedback, it would be greatly appreciated!! Thank you all SO much for your lovely comments at the end of the last chapter! <3
> 
> By the way, quick TW for suicide!

******_[Excerpt from ‘The Seventh Derry Academy Member’.]_ **

_I bet you’re wondering—_ how _did Pennywise manage to convince seven pairs of parents to let their children go through such strenuous training? Well, the answer to that is simple— money._

_This isn’t anything you should hold against any of our parents. Put yourself in their shoes for a minute. They were approached by the richest man in town, who offered them substantial payments to educate their children._

_Think of Zach and Sharon Denbrough, whose son had been hit by a car just months previously. They couldn’t full pay off his medical bills, and couldn’t even begin to think about his newly needed speech therapy._

_Arlene Hanscom, a now single mother, who was in a new town, overwhelmed by the rising cost of bills. All while trying to provide for her son, who she had to raise all on her own. Elfrida and Al Marsh, also struggling, a waitress and a janitor, still learning to scrape their wages together to provide for their young daughter. Wentworth and Maggie Tozier, who had underestimated how much it would cost to raise a child._

_In more financial trouble than most, Jessica and Will Hanlon, who had recently lost a small fortune after their farm was attacked, an unfortunately regular occurrence in Derry. Andrea and Donald Uris, worried about how they’ll get by, after Andrea was recently laid off from her job._

_And then, my own parents, Myra and Frank Kaspbrak, hit with a dilemma, after Frank was diagnosed with leukaemia, and they weren’t even sure if they could afford the costs to get him the help he needed._

_Imagine being any one of those struggling parents, and then approached by one of Derry’s most revered residents. Robert Gray made several contributions to restoring the town’s history, creating a positive image over the course of many years._

_So, when he asked, “How much money do you want?” to all these struggling parents, how could they say no?_

* * *

_1981._

“Shouldn’t we stay just a little longer? Just to make sure the kids are _really_ going to be okay?” Myra fretted, glancing over at her husband, who averted his gaze.

Elfrida had her car door half open, but slowly stepped back out when she heard the other parents mumble in agreement. She folded her arms and sat on the hood of her car, staring into the window of Gray’s house.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to stay and watch for a few more minutes,” she said.

The rest of the parents grew quiet, also looking into the window, where they could see their children, sitting attentively while Gray talked. While the parents trusted the man, due to his positive impact on Derry, they still felt a little skeptical about leaving their young children alone with a virtual stranger.

Several of them squinted, trying to read the man’s lips as he spoke to the children. They weren’t able to make out what he was saying, but they could tell, from their children’s expressions, that he had their full attention. They were leaning forward, with wide, eager eyes. Seeing their excitement made the parents feel a little more at ease about choosing to send their children to be trained by the man.

Inside the training room, Gray began to pace back and forth. In his hand, he held a piece of chalk, standing in front of a wheeled-in chalkboard. On the board, he had written, “The Derry Academy”, with all of their names written beneath.

“I have chosen all of you so that we can explore the powers you have, and nurture those powers, so they can grow and thrive. You see, children, you are going to save the world. Your powers will help you defeat all kinds of evil,” he announced to them, noticing how their eyes lit up at the sound of them saving the world.

“Look around at each other. You’re all going to be teammates from now on. Together, you are powerful. But, without me, you will be nothing. I will help you all reach your full potential, and you will only reach that potential if you obey me. Do you understand?” he continued.

The children nodded. The man smiled an animal-like smile, and leaned forward.

“Fantastic. Well, shall we begin our training?”

Outside, the parents watched as their children got to their feet, and exploring the room with curiosity. The majority of them were now feeling a bit more reassured, seeing that the man would be considerate with their children.

Arlene Hanscom looked around, noticing one or two parents still had a worried look. She decided it wouldn’t hurt to settle their minds a little.

“Even if they don’t really learn anything worthwhile here,” she said aloud, “Won’t it be nice for them to make new friends?”

Looking back in the window, she spotted Ben, who was now shyly approaching the Denbrough kid. She smiled, believing in her words. If nothing else, she knew her son would have fun with the rest of the kids.

* * *

_2016._

Ben shifted uncomfortably as he glanced around at his friends, the silence seeming to drag out. He had been the third to arrive, after Bill and Beverly. He sat there in an uncomfortable silence as the two refused to look at each other.

So, when Richie arrived, he felt immense relief, as he had a special talent of forcing conversation. Small talk flowed smoothly until Eddie arrived, and now, they sat in silence once more. Richie has scooted over to allow room for him to sit down on the second couch.

This silence mainly came on because Bill appeared to be thinking of something to say. They were sitting upright, looking around at each other. Bill folded his arms, chewing his lip as he contemplated what to say next.

“O-O-Okay, nuh-now that everyone’s huh-here, there’s suh-something you a-a-all ought t-t-t-to know,” he said.

“What is it?” Eddie asked.

“The muh-muh-mail b-b-boy fuh-found him. He wuh-was cycling i-i-in the nuh-nuh-neighbourhood, a-a-and suh-saw him cuh-cuh-cuh-cuh— _fuck,”_ Bill stopped, feeling his face grow red.

He pulled out his phone and began to type at a rapid speed. He occasionally paused, thinking of how to phrase certain things, before resuming his typing. A moment later, all their phones buzzed. He watched as each of them pulled out their phones, reading the message he just sent.

_Bill: The mail boy found him. He was cycling in the neighbourhood, and saw Pennywise collapsed in the training room. Boy was worried he wasn’t breathing, so called 911. Paramedics broke into house, but he was already gone._

_Autopsy report claims he died of malnourishment— aligns with how paramedics described body: skeleton thin. I went by the morgue today, but when the assistant went to get his body, do you want to know what they found?_

He waited until everyone was looking up from their phones again. Then, he reached into his bag, and pulled out a thermos. As he began to untwist the cap, the others leaned over.

“Gotta go for the dramatics, huh?” Richie asked.

“I-I guess,” Bill replied, and then looked sheepishly at them. “A-And I-I-I’m sorry a-about the t-t-thermos. I-I-It was a-a-all I had.”

He took off the cap, and Eddie immediately sat back in his seat, averting his gaze, knowing what he had looked at. The thermos was nearly filled to the top with clumps of gray ashes.

“Is that _him?”_ Beverly asked.

Bill nodded. “The wuh-workers there d-d-d-don’t know huh-how it happened. They chuh-checked security f-f-f-footage a-and found nothing suh-suh-suspicious.”

“You really had nothing better to use than a thermos? Please tell me you didn’t have any coffee in that,” Eddie said, pointing to the thermos, his face turning pale.

“Nuh- _No!_ And that’s not our pruh-pruh-pruh-priority!” Bill exclaimed.

“Hey, you never know how it’d taste,” Richie said, and then spoke quickly. “Hey, can I get a tall macchiato, extra cream, cinnamon, and a small helping of my old trainer’s remains?”

“ _Anyways_ ,” Beverly interrupted, giving Richie and Eddie a pointed look. “So you think someone went in and set his body on fire for some reason?”

“Logically, i-i-it doesn’t muh-make sense. Security f-f-footage showed nothing, a-a-and if suh-someone did g-g-go in, the f-f-fire alarm would’ve g-g-gone off,” Bill explained.

“But you’re still not sure about that, are you?” Ben asked, reading his frustrated expression.

“I-I-I just kuh-keep thinking i-i-it’s not p-p-possible for someone’s b-b-body to just turn to d-d-dust,” he replied.

He paused, looking around at each of his friends. They were now watching him with tense, uncertain looks, and he understood why. With what he had to say next, he would rather not see how they would react to what he was thinking.

“I-I-I a-a-a-also keep thinking a-a-about huh-how e-e-everyone huh-here has spuh-special a-a-abilities,” he explained, and then glanced over at Eddie. “Wuh-Well, almost e-e-everyone.”

Eddie glanced down, not bothering to say anything, while Richie threw Bill a dirty look. Bill ignored him, and kept talking.

“A-A-And I know e-e-e-everyone here has suh-some r-r-reason or a-a-another to hate him. Suh-suh-so, if someone wuh-was d-d-determined enough, they cuh-could f-f-f-find a wuh-wuh-way to i-i-i-incinerate his b-b-body,” he continued.

There was silence in the room for a moment. All of them stared at Bill incredulously.

“Why would anyone here want to go out of their way to set his body on fire? He’s already dead, what would that do to hurt him?” Eddie asked.

“M-M-Maybe to cuh-cover their tracks, b-b-before the cuh-cuh-coroner found out t-t-t-too much,” Bill said.

Beverly let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head at Bill. “You really think one of us killed him, don’t you?”

“That doesn’t make any sense, his cause of death was already ruled as malnourishment,” Ben added.

“What i-i-if there was suh-some e-e-evidence of f-f-foul play they hadn’t f-f-found yet?” Bill said.

Sensing that the atmosphere was quickly becoming unruly, Eddie looked over worriedly at Richie, who just shrugged. He had witnessed enough spats in their time to know this would blow over soon, but it was difficult to prevent a fight from occurring in the first place.

Their attention was drawn to Beverly, who had stood up, shaking her head.

“You have to know how stupid this sounds, right? None of us have the power to sneak into a house, starve a man to death, then sneak into a morgue and secretly turn his body to ash. You do know that, don’t you?” she snapped.

Bill also stood up, holding out his hands in defense.

“I-I-I’m just saying that whuh-what happened to his b-b-body isn’t n-n-normal.”

“ _Nothing_ about our lives screams normal, in case you forgot,” she retaliated. “Including Pennywise.”

Next to Bill, Stan remained seated on the arm of the couch, watching all of this in exasperation. As soon as Bill discovered what had happened to Pennywise’s body, he had discussed his theories with Stan, about the possibility of an Academy member having killed him. Stan had promptly told him it was ridiculous, and if he told the rest of the Academy his theory, it would only upset them.

He found it exhausting to be proven right about Bill’s impulsive choices once again.

“Beverly’s right. And I told you not to tell them,” Stan hissed at him.

“Shut up,” Bill snapped back.

Beverly glared at him. “What did you say?”

Bill winced, immediately realizing his mistake. Looking around, he now saw that the rest of his friends were seated in quiet terror, even Richie, as they sensed an oncoming fight. Stan shook his head at Bill, sighing with disapproval.

“N-N-Not you.”

“Then who?” she asked.

“I-I-In case y-y-you’ve f-f-forgotten, I-I-I spend my l-l-life guh-getting f-f-followed around by a-a-annoying spuh-spuh-spirits!” he snapped back at her, vaguely noticing how she winced at his rising anger.

“Annoying?” Stan asked, raising his eyebrows at Bill.

Before Bill could say anything in response, the living room suddenly appeared to disintegrate in front of his eyes. Looking down, he saw he was no longer standing on the floorboards of the old house, but instead, his shoes were lightly pressed into white, clean sand.

Looking up, he could no longer see his friends anywhere in sight. For miles on end, he could just see the endless beach, with no one else around. He could see the bright ocean in front of him, shimmering in the heat of summer. He could feel the sun on his skin, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, as he could feel a light breeze, slightly cooling him down.

As he listened to the sound of the waves peacefully rolling in and out from the shore, he briefly found himself lost in the peace and bliss of his surroundings. But, that was only for a second. Then, he remembered he had been in the middle of a heated discussion, and he knew exactly why he suddenly found himself on a peaceful beach.

 _“Ben!”_ he cried. “What a-a-are you d-doing? L-L-Let me g-go!”

Ben’s voice came through like an echo. “Will you be calmer about this?”

“I-I-I _am_ calm,” he replied. “I-I-If e-e-everyone would just l-l-listen to m-m-me without freaking o-o-out—“

“Bill, I’ll come get you in a while, okay?” Ben interrupted.

Upon hearing that Ben wasn’t letting him out of his illusion so easily, Bill glared around him, hoping his steely look was landing on Ben somewhere in the real world. He found it hard to believe that, in the middle of an important discussion, Ben would pull this on him.

Then, Beverly’s voice came through with that same dream-like quality. “Let him go. I’m done talking about this anyway.”

At once, the beach crumbled before him, and he found himself back in the living room. He whirled around, noticing how Richie held a hand in front of his mouth to cover his grin, and Ben was looking down at the floor, embarrassed.

Eventually, he met Beverly’s steely gaze. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, she spoke first.

“We’re supposed to rely on each other, and if you’re seriously that mistrustful of everyone here...” she paused, frowning at him. “I don’t know what to tell you. You should be able to trust all of us.”

With that, she turned around and stormed out of the room. After a moment, Ben got to his feet, holding a hand to the side of his head, and jogged out after Beverly.

Bill turned toward Richie and Eddie, giving them a pleading look. Richie simply got up from the sofa, and Eddie followed. They walked by Bill, but before they left the room, Richie turned back to him.

“I gotta say, you’re probably onto something. Pennywise turning to dust is pretty weird, but I don’t think any of us killed him. Want to know what I think?”

“What?” Bill asked.

“I think he isn’t actually human. He’s probably an alien or something. _That’s_ why he turned to dust.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and gave Richie a little push to force him out of the living room. Richie gave a small wave, and left the room with Eddie. Bill was left alone in the living room.

Well, almost alone. He looked over his shoulder and saw Stan staring him down. Groaning, Bill slumped down onto the couch, holding his head in his hands.

“That w-w-was a d-d-disaster,” he muttered.

“I told you not to say it,” Stan said.

Bill turned around to reply to him, but before he could say anything, he saw that Stan had begun to make his way out into the hallway. Bill sighed and got up after him, quickly following.

As he saw Stan seamlessly slip through the front door, and into the front garden, he stopped for a moment in the hallway. Then, he cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Memorial’s i-i-i-in thirty m-m-minutes!” he called out.

He was unsure if anyone would even attend after their earlier discussion. However, after a moment, he could hear Ben’s voice from the training room.

“We’ll be there!” he called out.

“Same here,” Eddie’s voice came from the top of the stairs.

Relieved at that, Bill found his focus was once again on Stan. He approached the front door, opened it, and looked out into the yard. He looked around for a moment, and then spotted Stan in front of the statue of himself.

He rushed over. Stan didn’t seem to notice him. Instead, he was focused on running his index finger around the ring circling his statue’s feet. Bill watched him quietly for a moment, and then cleared his throat to announce his presence. Stan didn’t turn around, but began to speak.

“It’s so frustrating to watch you say and do stupid, impulsive things, you know that?”

Bill sighed. “Y-Y-You were r-right, they d-d-didn’t take it wuh-well. Happy?”

Stan whirled around on him, causing Bill to take a step back. H felt gang familiar fear that only occurred whenever he talked to a furious spirit.

But furious wasn’t the right word to describe Stan’s current state. He looked utterly exhausted and lost.

“Of course I’m not happy. Do you think I like seeing all of you fight? I can’t do anything to appease or stop you guys. All I’m able to do is watch,” he said, his tone becoming quieter.

Bill took a step forward, reaching a hand out, unsure of what he would do. All he could see was that Stan was getting increasingly upset about being dead once more. His gaze trailed over to the statue behind him, and Bill knew that a lot of Stan’s current forlornness had to do with seeing that statue.

Once again, Stan had been reminded that he was isolated, with little company in death. Bill knew being reminded of that had to sting. So, he found it was a good time to bring up a subject which they had skirted around rapidly over the past few years.

“Y-Y-You don’t have t-t-to just w-w-watch, y-y-you know. I-I-I could t-tell them that y-you’re still here,” he said.

Stan stubbornly shook his head, causing Bill to give him an exasperated look. This wasn’t the first time they had this discussion. From the moment Bill first saw Stan as a ghost, he had wanted to tell the others, but Stan had always insisted that he wouldn’t. Bill had respected his wish, but whenever Stan showed frustration at not being able to help the others, it only confused Bill further.

“Why n-not?” he asked.

Stan remained quiet for a moment, and Bill thought he was going to avoid the question once more. But, to his surprise, Stan actually replied.

“Do you remember the night you first saw me?” he asked. “As a spirit, I mean.”

Bill nodded. He couldn’t ever possibly forget it, after all. It had been shortly after midnight, when he suddenly awoke. Whenever he felt the strong presence of someone recently deceased, it was enough to command his full attention, regardless of whether or not he was asleep.

When he opened his eyes, he fumbled for the lamp on his bedside locker, and looked up. He flinched upon seeing Stan standing at the end of his bed, simply looking at him. A terrible thought occur _red to Bill then, but he pushed it away. The only reason I woke up is because I must have heard him come in. He’s just in town and needs somewhere to stay,_ he told himself.

“Stan? W-What are you d-d-doing here?” he asked.

Stan’s eyes widened, as if he were surprised by Bill’s acknowledgment that he was here. Bill’s heart began to thud— he had seen that look of surprise on the faces of so many ghosts, but he pushed that thought away once more.

However, his anxiety only spiked when Stan refused to speak. Instead, refusing to meet his stare, Stan began to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. He revealed two T-like scars, running down both his arms, from his wrists to his elbows. The scars were bloody, red gashes.

Bill could only stare for a moment as Stan began to roll his sleeves back down, still not meeting his gaze. It felt as if he had entered a nightmare with unreal qualities, and soon, he would wake up in a cold sweat.

But, as the seconds passed by, he knew he was really experiencing this. He knew he had to say something to prompt him to speak.

“Why w-w-would y-you...” he began, but trailed off as he felt a lump form in his throat, and tears form in his eyes.

Stan, unable to take seeing the hurt in his expression, turned around and left the room, ignoring Bill’s pleas to stay. He didn’t know if he would have the courage to ever return to his friend’s side.

But, soon enough, he did, which led them to this current point in time, where they stood facing each other in the front yard of the house on Neibolt Street.

“I remember,” Bill said.

“I couldn’t stand seeing you so hurt. I know if you tell the others, I’ll have to deal with seeing that level of heartbreak again,” Stan explained. “And I don’t want to deal with them asking why I did it.”

“Y-Y-You never t-told me w-w-why you did, a-actually.”

Stan looked around the yard, his gaze stopping on Georgie’s statue. Bill wondered once again if he was going to answer or not, but eventually, he did.

“After everything we’ve been put through, why wouldn’t you? You understand that, don’t you?” he murmured.

Bill didn’t respond. A part of him wanted to argue that it was a terrible mindset to have, but a part of him also completely understood what Stan meant. Instead of replying, he stared ahead at Georgie’s statue too, reminding him of his main goal in life.

* * *

Eddie stood hesitantly in the door of the bedroom. Looking into the old room brought back a flood of memories— particularly of the late nights he had spent awake, talking to the others, particularly Richie, until the early hours of the morning.

There were four other bedrooms in the house, all with two small, single beds per room. The bedrooms had been set up in case training ran late into the night, which often turned out to be the case.

Even though Eddie had nothing to practice for, he enjoyed spending as much time as he could with his friends, and after their training would finish, Richie always tried to make time for him, talking about pointless things late into the night.

Now, as he stood at the door, the first thing he found himself remarking upon was how small it seemed now. Back when he was young, he found the bedrooms to be spacious, but now, they just felt cramped, and the beds looked highly uncomfortable to sleep in as an adult.

However, that didn’t seem to bother Richie, who had immediately flopped down onto what used to be his bed. Even though he was clearly in a tight space, he still had a relaxed look about him.

Eddie approached the bed, and Richie sat up, making room for him. As Eddie sat down, he opened up his suitcase, beginning to fumble through it.

“What a way to kick off a memorial, huh?” Richie spoke up.

Eddie looked up from his suitcase for a moment. “It could have gone better.”

“What? No, it was an awesome way to start things off. Who doesn’t love a good murder mystery? Especially since Bill thinks the killer is in the house.”

As Richie rambled, he noticed that Eddie’s full attention was back on rummaging through his suitcase. He slowly reached over, unnoticed by Eddie as he did so.

“He might even think the killer’s in this very room!” he exclaimed, grabbing Eddie’s shoulders.

That was enough to cause Eddie to flinch and look up at him with wide eyes for a moment, which then changed into a glare. Richie backed off, laughing to himself. Eddie tried to remain stern, but couldn’t hold back a smile, and joined in on laughing.

He went back to rummaging through his suitcase, and eventually found what he was looking for— the medication he had been due to take. He pulled out a few pill bottles, uncapping them one by one, carefully plucking out what he needed.

Richie watched the methodical, expert way that Eddie handled taking his medication. While several possible quips floated around in his mind, he chose to sit there silently. He found himself thinking back to when they were kids. Eddie would sit cross-legged at the end of the bed, sorting out all his medication, as he did now. It felt as if hardly anything had changed in that time, apart from the fact that they were now older.

Eddie barely noticed his silence, instead focusing on counting out each of the pills, making sure he had the right amount laid out. Then, he pulled a bottle of water out of his suitcase, uncapped it, and downed each pill, one by one. He had been prescribed a few different medications, the majority since childhood, and he tended to take them all in one go.

It was only after he had taken all his necessary medication that he realised Richie had been quiet for once. Turning towards him, Eddie was surprised to see he was gazing over at him.

“Some things never change, huh?” Richie said.

Despite the obvious enough comment, Eddie had no idea what Richie was actually thinking about in that moment, but he found his own mind wandering back to their childhood and teenage years. As he looked back at Richie, he could see him throughout the years. He could see him with one of his glasses lenses smashed, a common occurrence after many of the missions the Academy. He could also see him with bruises, cuts, and the occasional broken arm, but always with that ridiculous grin on his face after telling a bad joke.

He could see him as a fourteen year old, a few hours after surviving one of the worst missions the Academy ever had. He remembered his own fear, and when he considered how lucky he was to be able to still look over and see him there, in spite of everything that happened.

He remembered what Richie had told him. He especially remembered when he scooted over closer, putting his hand on top of his own, and then—

Eddie pushed the memory away. It was one of the strongest recurring memories from his younger years, and whenever it occurred to him, he felt the ghost of his feelings from that moment surface again. His memories of his childhood tended to verge on loneliness and his inferiority to his friends. But, for the most part, Richie was the one person who actually made him feel important and wanted, especially in that moment. As he thought of that now, he pushed it away, and instead looked over at Richie, wondering what he was thinking about.

When he looked over, he could see that Richie appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, an absentminded smile on his face. Eddie found himself wondering if he was thinking about the same things, and about that moment.

Richie looked up, feeling Eddie’s eyes on him. The two just stared at each other for a moment, Eddie wondering how Richie was resisting the urge to make some dumb comment to break the silence.

Then, as he felt something stir in him, he realised that he was experiencing the echo of his feelings from his moment once more, but this time, it was more than an echo. He was right here, back in the same room, with the same person, and it was impossible to ignore what was stirring in him in this tense moment. Those feelings, which he had pushed as far away as he could for the past twenty-three years, were now all he could focus on.

 _Please say something,_ he mentally begged Richie, but he had a vague idea that his longtime friend was also going through something similar.

Eddie felt his throat begin to tighten. After a moment, he realised that it was because he was on the verge of an asthma attack. He fumbled for his inhaler, and after popping it into his mouth and taking a breath, he could hear Richie say something, finally breaking the silence.

“Eddie blasts off again!” he announced, as he often did as a kid.

Eddie glared at him, causing him to wince. _Maybe it’s a good thing he ruined whatever was going on there,_ he thought, now wondering what had passed between them just a second ago.

Richie now looked away uncomfortably, as he usually did as an adult whenever he couldn’t control his mouth. As a kid, he rarely felt shame about his inability to shut up, but nowadays, he tended to make himself cringe.

As Eddie stuffed his inhaler back in his pocket, he felt like he quickly needed to change the subject. Racking his brains, he eventually went with the first casual topic that came to mind.

“So, how’s the job hunting going?”

Richie grimaced, placing a hand on his forehead. Eddie frowned, realising right away that he had chosen the worst possible topic. _Nice going,_ he told himself.

“Well, the last guy who interviewed me spent the whole time on his phone,” Richie explained. “Wasn’t even subtle about it or anything.”

“Seriously?” Eddie asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s really unprofessional. You know you could probably ask for a redo, since you didn’t really have a fair chance?”

Richie shook his head. “Nah. I want to work somewhere that appreciates the Tozier charm, you know?”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie couldn’t hold back a grin. Then, as he thought more about the subject, he realised that Richie still hadn’t told him exactly what happened at his old job. He hesitated, wondering if now was the right time to bring up the subject.

When Richie first got fired, he had called Eddie about it, but carefully avoided explaining exactly what had went down, even though Edie had repeatedly asked him to tell. All he knew was that it was clearly a sore subject, but Eddie still couldn’t appease his curiosity.

“I bet you wanna know what happened at the last place,” Richie said, snapping Eddie out of his thoughts.

Eddie sat up straight. “If you’re ready to tell me, I’m here to listen.”

Richie cleared his throat and opened his mouth. Eddie couldn’t help but lean forward. He had been waiting quite a while to hear this story.

“So, Eds,” he began, and then paused.

“So?”

“So I’ll tell you if you’ll grab lunch with me at La Griglia. You know, that pizza place we went to when we were kids?”

Eddie scowled at him, feeling cheated out of the story. But, he had to admit, it sounded like a good way to spend the afternoon. The sooner he was able to push away any memories of Pennywise, the better.

“Fine,” he said.

Richie grinned. “Great! And maybe afterwards, we can go get some drinks—“

“Okay, I have to stop you there. I should probably visit my mom sometime today, so I’ll head there after lunch,” Eddie interrupted him.

There was a brief flash of disappointment on Richie’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a grin.

“No problem. Make sure to tell her that if she wants a late-night call, I’ll be waiting,” he said.

Eddie rolled his eyes, choosing not to respond. Instead, he grabbed his suitcase, to go change, proceeding towards the door, and then looked back.

“Aren’t you getting changed?” he asked, taking note of how Richie was dressed in a brightly-colored t-shirt and jeans.

“What’s wrong with what I have on? Think Pennywise is going to make one last disapproving comment?”

Eddie shrugged. He knew there would be no convincing Richie into caring enough to show some bit of respect for their old mentor. Frankly, he didn’t know why he wanted to put in any effort himself. He knew that Pennywise had never earned it.

“See you down there,” he said, and left the room.

Even though he spoke nonchalantly enough, he found that he was smiling to himself at the thought of going for lunch with Richie afterwards. Again, he felt that rare sensation— of being appreciated, and feeling like he was actually visible. He found that in spite of the fact he was about to attend a memorial, he was in the highest spirits he had been in a long time.

* * *

Ben approached the training room hesitantly. The door creaked loudly as he pushed it open. As it began to open, he could see Beverly pacing back and forth, but freezing upon hearing the door open. She turned, pulling a knife from one of the targets she stood beside.

When she saw it was just Ben, she dropped the knife, slumping her shoulders. She walked further down the room, sitting down on one of the benches. She patted a space next to her, indicating for him to sit down. Uncertainly approaching the bench, he sat down beside her.

“Were you really going to throw that?” he asked.

She smirked for a moment, as if he was joking around. He continued to look at her with concern.

“I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?” she said, still grinning.

“But, if it _wasn’t_ me, would you have thrown it?”

That caused Beverly to stop smiling. She sighed, and after a moment, shook her head.

“I know what you’re thinking, and no, I wouldn’t actually throw a knife at Bill. I’m just a little… hell, I’m really pissed,” she said.

Watching her cautiously, Ben wondered if he could provide comfort to her in any way. Uncertainly, he inched a little closer to her. She glanced up at him, noticing as he did so, and offered him a weak smile. She shifted a little closer too, causing their legs to slightly brush against each other. Ben felt his heartbeat quicken, but tried to ignore it, focusing on what was bothering her instead.

“Are you talking about what Bill said earlier? About how one of us possibly—“ he began.

“Yeah, that basically he suspects that one of us murdered Pennywise. I mean, he’s supposed to be our leader, and he basically just admitted to trusting none of us.”

Ben sighed. He knew the next few days would be filled with tension if Bill and Beverly didn’t work out their differences. He wasn’t looking to completely fix the problems they’ve had over the years, but he had a feeling that if he helped out at least in this case, it could make Beverly’s time in Derry a little easier.

“I think he’s just voicing his own irrational concerns. I don’t think he _wants_ to believe any of us killed him, and at the bottom of his heart, he probably knows that too. But since Pennywise did just turn to dust, he’s probably just letting his mind spew any irrational theories that come to mind,” Ben tried to explain. “He still trusts us.”

That last sentence caused Beverly to look away, biting her lip. He could see she was hurting. He reached over and gently touched her arm.

“What is it?”

“It’s just… well, that’s easy for you to say. He still trusts all of you guys, for sure. But he’s always had it out against me ever since…” she trailed off, quickly shaking her head as she felt tears begin to well up. “What I’m saying is that if he suspects anyone, I’m scared he thinks it’s me. That’s why I got so angry.”

Ben looked away, knowing exactly what she was referring to. He knew that whenever she brought up that particular topic, it tended to upset her deeply, so he decided to keep on track.

“I understand, and if he thinks that, well, it’s just wrong,” he began, and then sat up straight, an idea occurring to him. “How about you help out with his investigation, throw him a bone? You could go down to the coroner’s office or something like that. If you can help him see that what happened to Pennywise was just some freak accident of nature, he’ll stop suspecting everyone, especially you.”

He paused, and then shyly added, “Only if you want to, that is.”

Beverly stared at him for a moment, and then smiled. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Sure, I’ll give that a go. The sooner we get him to take that tinfoil hat off, the better,” she said, and then frowned again. “I don’t think he’ll automatically start trusting me, though. You know he hasn’t really trusted me since we were kids.”

“Hey, that’s not—“

Beverly held a hand up, stopping him from talking.

“Okay, that’s enough about me. How are you doing? Still getting those headaches?” she asked.

Ben couldn’t reply for a moment, but only gazed at her in amazement. He knew that _she_ was the upset one, but in that moment, she could only show concern for him. He couldn’t fathom why, but was touched by her care.

At her question, though, it brought his attention back to his head. Shortly after conducting one of his illusions on Bill, he felt that familiar painful throb behind his left eye, which was only beginning to calm down now.

For a moment, he contemplated on his answer. He didn’t want to concern Beverly, but at the same time, he didn’t want to lie to her either.

“They’re still coming on pretty frequently, especially when I use my powers. But I don’t really need to use them all that much, so I’m fine most of the time,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

It didn’t appear to work, as Beverly still looked at him with concern. He looked away, feeling uncomfortable.

“You shouldn’t be using them at all if they’re physically hurting you. We’re done with the Academy, so you shouldn’t have any reason to use your powers at all anymore,” she said softly.

He knew that there was no wiggling out of that one, as she had a point. Still, he didn’t quite know how to explain to her that it made his work so much easier, as he could literally envision his projects right in front of his eyes. Aside from work, he could escape to anywhere in the world whenever things got too stressful, all through the power of his mind.

But, that was hard to argue, especially when he had been honest about the fact that using his powers nowadays physically pained him. He knew he wouldn’t stop using them, but he didn’t want to stress Beverly out either. He decided the best thing to do would be to change the subject.

Getting up, he approached the neatly laid-out weapons at the further end of the room. The weapons hadn’t been used by the majority of the Academy members— Beverly had been the only one to make frequent use of them. Running his hand along the rack, Ben eventually settled on a bow and arrow.

“Maybe I can try my hand at your ability instead?” he said, grinning at her.

She smiled too, and as he saw her shoulders slump, he knew she was beginning to relax too. She came over to him, examining how he was holding the bow. While her weapon of choice had been knives, due to their easy handling and light weight in quick-thinking situations, but she had an incredibly accurate aim with a bow and arrow too.

“I don’t know about that, since you’re not even holding that bow right,” she said, and stood behind him. “Here, let me show you.”

She placed both her hands over his own, slowly rotating the bow in his hand. With the other hand, she attached the arrow to the bow’s holder, aiming it toward a drawn-on target on the wall. Craning her neck, she looked at Ben to make sure he was paying attention to the target.

When she saw his face, she smirked. He was now staring directly at the wall ahead, but not with concentration. His face had turned bright red, and he was clearly holding his breath.

“W-What next?” he whispered.

He slowly turned to look at her, and flinched when he saw her smirking at him. After a moment, she burst out laughing, and in his flustered bewilderment, he joined her. He dropped the bow and arrow with a clatter, but she still kept her hands over his.

As their laughter tapered off, they continued to gaze at each other. Beverly adjusted her hands so that her fingers slid in between his, causing that flustered look to return to his face. Looking down at her, Ben was surprised to find himself considering the possibility that she might actually like him back.

 _Okay, you should be honest with her,_ he told himself, and then, an afterthought occurred to him. _Am I really about to do this before a memorial? Way to time your confessions, Ben._

“Beverly,” he spluttered, and then found himself freezing up.

She gave him an amused look, and then uttered, “Ben?”

“I just… I want to say, first of all, that I never believed what Pennywise said about you. I don’t think you’re responsible for what happened at all.”

As soon as he saw the smile disappear from her face, and tears begin to well up, he regretted starting off by saying that. She blinked back tears, and looked up at him again, smiling weakly.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you—“

Then, the door creaked open further. Beverly let go of his hands, turning towards the door. He looked over, and saw Bill standing in the doorway. He had his hands shoved into his trousers’ pockets, and he was eyeing them up suspiciously.

“N-Not to interrupt, b-b-but the muh-memorial’s about to start,” he said.

With that, he turned on his heels and left, not further questioning them on what was going on just a moment before.

Beverly sighed, slowly walking towards the door. Ben meekly followed, kicking himself for not just coming outright and telling her how he felt. Why he felt compelled to start off with a speech, he’d never know.

Then, he froze when she turned her head, offering him one last smile.

“Thank you for that, Ben. It means a lot,” she said.

“Oh, um, no problem!” he said, feeling himself instantly brighten up.

Waiting for him to catch up, she nudged his shoulder. “Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

Out in the backyard, the five adults stood in a circle. Bill held the thermos in one hand. With the other, he fumbled in his pocket, and pulled out a slip of paper. The others looked at him curiously.

“I-I-I prepared a-a-a little speech, b-b-but i-i-if o-one of y-y-you want to r-r-read it o-out while I scuh-scatter the a-a-ashes, that w-w-would be great,” he said.

“P-P-Probably a g-g-good idea, Bill,” Richie imitated him, grinning.

Bill gave him a sour look. Before he could shoot back a petty jibe, Ben reached over and took the slip of paper from Bill. He unfolded it, and cleared his throat.

“Robert Gray may not have had many friends, but he left a great impact on all of Derry, and especially on all of us here today,” Ben began.

Beverly gave him a suspicious look, curious about where the speech was going. As he skimmed the page, he raised his eyebrows, and looked uncertainly at Bill. The leader of the group wasn’t paying attention to him, though. He was unscrewing the lid, and once it was off, he slowly tipped the ashes into the grass. He glanced at Ben, indicating for him to keep going.

“Um, without him, none of us would be where we are today. He trained us to be the best that we can be—“

“Bill, that’s a pile of bullshit,” Beverly interrupted Ben.

As she spoke, Bill was watching as their old mentor’s ashes fell into the grass, merging in with the soil. He was astounded that the man who had awakened his ability to see the dead was now just a pile of ashes, that the story had truly ended for him.

At the sound of Beverly’s voice, he looked up, startled, and then irritated.

“He messed us all up. You have to admit that,” she continued.

Ben and Eddie shared an uncomfortable look, knowing where this was going. Ben stepped forward, ready to come between Bill and Beverly, but it was to no avail, as Bill then spoke up.

“D-D-Do you have to d-d-do this n-n-now?” he asked.

“Yes, I do, because you’re looking over all the terrible things he did. He drove Stan to suicide, and he’s the reason your brother’s dead. Is that what you call a great man?”

“Y-Y- _You’re_ the reason Georgie’s d-d-dead, a-a-and you know i-i-it!” he snapped.

“Bill, that’s enough,” Eddie quietly said.

Ben looked around in dismay. That hurt look had returned on Beverly’s face, and she couldn’t find the ability to harden her expression. Bill was glaring at her, his look steely. Eddie was slowly backing away, almost shrinking in on himself.

 _Oh god, am I going to have to use my abilities to calm them all down?_ he wondered, afraid that it would result in a killer migraine, but he knew that wasn’t important. The important thing was defusing this situation.

Before he could do anything, though, Richie stepped forward. Ben felt a brief surge of hope that Richie would be the salvation he was looking for. But, as soon as his friend opened his mouth, he knew that wouldn’t be the case.

“Hey, look, Beverly’s right,” he said.

Bill gave him a bewildered look, while Beverly nodded at him, feeling glad to have someone on her side.

“Come on, can you say any of us are normal adults? In some way, our childhoods fucked us all up, and that’s all on him. Hell, even Eddie’s childhood got fucked up because of that bastard telling him he was no good. Normal kids didn’t have to fight actual _murderers_. Normal kids just sat on their asses watching TV all day— that’s what we should have been doing!”

He stopped, laughing at himself for a moment. Bill opened his mouth to speak, but Richie kept talking before he could start.

“Sure, we were superheroes, and what kid wouldn’t want that? But you know damn well we were too young to be involved in all that dangerous shit, but did Pennywise give a damn? No, all he cared about was himself. That’s all he cared about from the day he started training us. He was a selfish asshole that traumatised all of us, and Stan’s proof of that. Who can blame him for killing himself?”

Richie took a step forward, and kicked up a clump of dirt, in the spot where Bill just scattered the ashes. The others watched him with a kind of morbid curiosity, wondering how long this outburst had been building up inside him.

“You know what, I’m glad he’s dead! And you should all be happy about it too! We should be living it up and partying now that he’s finally in hell!”

 _“Richie,”_ Bill called out, hoping to put an end to his rant.

Before either of them could say anything though, they were interrupted by the sound of thunder. All of them flinched. It was a beautiful summer day, so the thunder had come as a shock.

When they looked up, they saw an oddly coloured blue cloud brewing in the sky. It crackled, and strangely enough, appeared to be coming closer.

“Well done, Richie, you pissed him off, and now he’s back to haunt us all,” Beverly said nervously, unsure if that was the most logical explanation for this strange occurrence.

“Holy shit. Okay, if that’s really you, I’m sorry. I was just kidding,” Richie said to the cloud, which continued to crackle.

Ben and Eddie slowly took a few steps back, looking at the backdoor of the house. They wondered how fast they could all get inside to try and evade whatever the strange thing was.

Meanwhile, Stan was giving Bill a panicked look, as if to ask if that was really Pennywise returning. Bill shook his head frantically. This was the first time he had ever seen anything like it, but if he had to guess, Pennywise would be the one ghost to make a reentrance like this.

Then, a figure began to emerge from the blue shape. Beverly reached into the back of her belt for a knife, ready to attack whoever was coming. Richie took several steps back, joining Ben and Eddie. Barely realising it, he stood in front of Eddie, blocking his view of the shape.

The figure became clearer with each passing moment, and at once, Bill wondered if it was some kind of hallucination. There was no way he had rightly guessed of who was emerging from the shape.

Just as he began to wonder, a young teenager dropped into the grass below with a hard thump. The rest of the Academy looked on with amazement, unable to believe what they were seeing. Eddie looked as if he were about to collapse with both shock and relief.

“Mike? Is that really you?” Ben murmured.

The boy looked at him with equal shock. He got to his feet, and the Academy could now see he was clutching the blade of a knife in his hands, blood pouring down his fingers. He unsteadily walked towards them, reaching out with his free hand, as if in shock that they were really there.

The rest of them couldn’t deny it— they were truly looking at their old friend, Mike Hanlon, who went missing so many years ago.

Except, there was one problem with his reappearance in their lives.

“Hey, Mike, you haven’t aged a day!” Richie said, his voice high with disbelief. He let out a nervous, quick laugh.

That caused Mike to stop walking. He looked down at himself, patting his body, and then groaned.

“Oh my god, something must’ve gone wrong…” he muttered, examining his thirteen year old body.

The others didn’t appear to notice.

Bill took a step forward. “I-I-I can’t b-b-believe it. W-Where have you b-b-been?”

“The future. I got stuck. I’m so, so sorry. I was going to come right back, but…” he said, and trailed off.

Eddie stepped towards him, still in shock. Then, he leaned down, wrapping him in a tight hug, causing Mike to drop the knife he had been holding. He felt tears began to form, but he tried to ignore the sensation.

“I’m sorry. This was all my fault,” he said.

Mike shook his head and gave him a light pat on the back. “No, it wasn’t. That night was all on me.”

Then, he wriggled out of Eddie’s grasp.

“We’ve got more important things to cover, don’t we?” he said.

“Y-Y-You mean P-P-Pennywise’s p-p-possible m-murder?” Bill asked.

He felt a surge of hope. If Mike had been to the future, he probably found out what exactly had happened to Pennywise.

Beverly shook her head at him and stepped forward, kneeling down in front of Mike, and lifting up his bloodied hand. She briefly turned to look at Bill.

“No, it’s obviously not about that,” she sneered, and then gave Mike a gentle look. “Is this about your hand? You know you’re not meant to hold knives like that, right?”

Mike pulled his hand away, and looked at them all with fear in his eyes. He had returned to this day with terror and confusion in his heart, but he hoped that as soon as he returned, his friends would be able to tell him exactly what they had to stop. But, as far as he could see, they were going on with life as normal.

He felt a surge of pity and heartache for them all in that moment. After waiting so long to see them again, he had hoped that he could join them in whatever mission had popped up around this time. But, he couldn’t help them, since they were in the dark about what was going to happen too.

 _I can’t believe it. None of them know that the world is going to end,_ he thought, and at that moment, he felt as if his heart had shattered. _I can’t do this all by myself._


End file.
